


Three Times it Was Theoretical and One Time it Wasn't

by noblydonedonnanoble



Category: Doctor Who RPF
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-21
Updated: 2012-05-29
Packaged: 2017-11-05 19:08:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/410003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noblydonedonnanoble/pseuds/noblydonedonnanoble





	1. Chapter 1

                So there they are, sitting in a diner and eating lunch together. They’ve done it a couple of times, just for an excuse to get off the set and be Catherine and David instead of _Catherine_ and _David_.

                But today, this is the first time since The Kiss. It is a moment—or rather series of moments—that truly merits the name because regardless of the fact that it was just for the cameras, it’s got Catherine thinking.

                She’s contemplating the concept of friendship.

                Donna and the Doctor are friends. Of course. They’re both so certain to clarify the friendship on a regular basis that sometimes it drives Catherine insane how supposedly “just friends” they are.

                Except she and David are just friends like that, too, aren’t they? He’s well on his way to becoming her best friend. She tells him things without even thinking about it that she stressed over for weeks before revealing to others.

                And that was going just great before that kiss happened.

                What would another go at it do to their friendship? Not on screen, of course, with Catherine as Donna and David as the Doctor.

                No.

                Catherine as Catherine, David as David…

                The precise location doesn’t even particularly matter because really, the concept is strictly theoretical.

                Or at least, Catherine has to tell herself that it’s a theoretical concept because if she stops, she’s pretty certain that it will become a quite realistic concern.

                But what if? What if she not only took _an_ opportunity to kiss him, but took _this_ opportunity to kiss him. Because he’s sitting right across from her. There’s a smudge of ketchup near his mouth, and she really wants to lean forward and wipe it away with her tongue.

                There is, of course, the question of how he will react. But that doesn’t matter, does it? If she stands up and leans across the table, maybe pulls him up by the collar of his tee-shirt for good measure, maybe will kiss her back because this is David and Catherine and judging from the way he looked at her after they filmed all of those shots for _Doctor Who_ , he probably wouldn’t mind a repeat performance.

                He will probably push all of the dishes aside, and maybe some will clatter to the floor and smash but that doesn’t matter either.

                The concept of other people being in the diner is completely gone to Catherine. It’s only her and David in there, and so she’ll be completely happy when he starts to pull her forward and gestures for her to climb onto the table. She will sit with her legs curled under her and pull David even closer, because of course she’ll need to have him as close to her as humanly possible and even closer still.

                His hands will wander across her body, and finger at a button on her blouse until she finally pulls away and tells him to unbutton it already, but _wait_ David let her pull your shirt off for you first.

                Catherine will toss David’s shirt away with complete abandon and it might just land in the food that they threw to the ground already. He’ll be more careful, at least setting it on the table gently before his hands continue with their wandering.

                The two of them will thrill at the feel of flesh on flesh. David might kiss his way down her neck, her clavicle, and keep going until he reaches her breasts. They’re practically spilling out of her bra, but he will still reach behind her and fiddle with the clasp until finally it will come free and she’ll pull away long enough to toss that aside as well.

                Maybe he’ll move on after that, but she doubts it. More likely, he will spend more time there, while Catherine runs her hand through his hair. She will tug on the strands when his mouth nears her nipples and groan when he pulls away to return to her lips.

                Except then, he’ll push her back against the cold table. Her hair will wave out and dangle slightly down off the table and she’ll look at him, watch as he swallows and climbs onto the table above her.

                Maybe David will say something. A question, or a compliment, or maybe he’ll say something absolutely absurd and out of nowhere because, after all, it is David.

                But it doesn’t particularly matter what he’ll say, because the final result will still be the same and he’ll inevitably reach down and unbutton her jeans, unzip them as she watches and breathes deep before reaching up to do the same to him.

                And he will smile as he leans forward and kisses her again, slow and deep. Catherine will pull David close and savor the feel of him on top of her, that feeling before they allow things to change.

                Except she doesn’t want things to change.

                “Catherine?” David is squinting at her and she feels herself turning very red.

                “Sorry, what did you say?”

                “I said that we should head back before Russell sends out a search party.”

                “Oh, yeah, okay.”

                They stand up and David pays while Catherine stands awkwardly beside him. Once he’s done, he turns to face her with a smile and loops their arms together.

                Yes. Catherine likes this, them being friends.

                That’s what they should be. Friends.


	2. Chapter 2

                At first it occurred to him as an off-handed thing. They had to squeeze into their TARDIS prop together that one last time, and as they were pressed together in the tight space his mind momentarily landed on the question of what it would be like to attempt something more… intimate in that TARDIS than just shedding a few tears over another one of these lasts for them on the show. Because after all, in a space so cramped it would no doubt be a bit difficult.

                Then the door opened and David and Catherine fell out into the arms of the cast and crew and the thought was knocked out of his head by the chatter and tragic smiles, at the idea of _David and Catherine’s last TARDIS moment_ together.

                Now he’s thinking about it again.

                He’s in his trailer and he should be going out any minute to meet Catherine so they can go out for dinner, but he’s dawdling and seems to have lost one of his shoes besides. He’s crawling around on his hands and knees looking under every imaginable surface, and while doing so it only makes sense that his mind will wander and if his mind wanders back to something about sex in the TARDIS… well, he can’t help that, can he?

                At first, he thinks that getting there would complicate things, but not really. It could easily happen during a lunch break. Nobody ever pays attention to them during the lunch break.

                So they’d jog to the store room, him clinging to her hand just to be sure that she didn’t pull away—not because he wouldn’t let her, but because he hopes she wouldn’t want to and that reassurance would always be nice.

                They would pull open the door to the TARDIS, because aside from the fact that they might not be able to cram in along with the doors, that’s theoretically how it’s supposed to be done in the first place. For a second, maybe they would look at each other and maybe he would smile because hell, David likes smiling and it would certainly do something to lighten the mood.

                She’d grab a door, he’d grab the other, and together they would pull them shut, watching as the box became almost entirely dark.

                His hands would be on her immediately as he fell into a kiss, pushing her into a corner of the box and he would grin against her lips when she hit the wall hard and let out a moan. His hands would be anchored on her hips for now, just so that he could grind against her and feel her squirm.

                Except she would retaliate because she would _never_ let David have the upper hand for long. She’d bite his lip or start to slide her hand up his shirt, scratching the whole way.

                Every spot on his skin that her fingertips just so happened to touch would burn, his very cells screaming for more contact with her fingers or her hands or her lips or anything, really, as long as it was connected to her in some way, shape or form.

                 She would push him away, though, and perhaps he would have little enough control that he might even let out a whimper. Except she’d reach for the hem of his shirt, pull it over his head completely.

                His hands might wander in the dark, reaching for her shirt as well but she’d stop him.

                At this moment, David would be grateful that his face fell in shadow because he would be growing increasingly more flushed as she kissed her way down his torso, lingering where muscles stretched. Somehow, even in darkness she would find his ticklish spots and make a point to visit every one of them and what would in reality take almost no time would feel like two eternities to David before she would keep going down.

                It’s not until Catherine’s knocking on his trailer door and asking if he’s ready to go that he realizes that she was the woman he was seeing himself with in the TARDIS.

                He clears his throat and shouts that he’ll need a minute.


	3. Chapter 3

                David loves coming into her dressing room before a show. He’ll go to his own dressing room first and fling on his costume before coming and just talking to Catherine until the very last second before she’s called to the stage. When she first met him and he did this, she assumed that it was just because he talked to ease his nervousness. Now she realizes that he’s so hyper before performing that if he didn’t talk to her, he’d probably bounce around backstage irritating the crew members.

                At least when he comes to her, his energy is consolidated to one room.

                So when he comes to her room, he no longer has to knock because when he opens the door she’ll just smile at him and say, “Hello David.”

                And he’ll say, “Hello Catherine,” and drop onto the couch, immediately lying back; his feet will go on one arm rest and his head on the other and he’ll tell her about the crazy thing that happened to him while he was walking from dinner to the theatre.

                But what if tonight when he strolls in tonight, he doesn’t fall into his normal position? What if Catherine is busy putting her street clothes in the closet? What if she says, “Hello David,” and doesn’t hear a response, but simply hears him ease the door closed and cross the room?

                She would feel his hands on her waist, feel his breath on her ear as he leans forward and whispers her name.

                Just the word would send shivers down her spine, coming from him. But then his lips would graze her skin, that spot where her jaw meets her neck and she would inhale sharply. Because of course they’ve kissed—they’ve kissed every night of this show. And maybe she has wanted to kiss him not in the context of a performance. But this. This would feel so much more intimate than any fumbling stage kiss could feel. His lips would travel, slowly, oh so slowly, planting kisses along her cheek until finally he would turn her to face him and press his lips against hers.

                Catherine’s arms would wrap around him immediately, both because at this point it would be reflexive, but also because she would be desperate to pull herself closer, to feel him against her knowing that it’s not for an audience. One hand would go for his hair, and maybe he’d have to get it completely redone but she wouldn’t care. At least the thought would occur to her, though, even if it was just a vague idea in a small part of her mind; David wouldn’t care, because the loss of a little product in his hair would mean nothing compared to the feel Catherine’s fingers grasping the strands of hair and tugging hard.

                They wouldn’t have all that much time before curtain but that wouldn’t matter, because of course their clothes were chosen with convenience in mind. If David had his say, they wouldn’t rush. If Catherine had her say, they would have all night to do what they’re attempting to do in what could be anywhere from five to fifteen minutes, depending on when she’s sent for.

                So he would step away, looking at her for a moment to gauge her reaction. When he’s certain that it’s a smile on her face David would tug at her shirt and she would allow him to pull it up. She would pull the buttons of his shirt free, and he’d let it slide free. And then he would take her hand and gently pull her toward the couch that he should be lying on.  Catherine would lie down on it instead and he would ease himself above her, looking her in the eye.

                Their performance that night would be the best yet. Benedick and Beatrice would tease and taunt and they would look at each other in a way that would send shivers down the spine of every audience member.

                And the hush that would fall over the crowd when the two of them kissed… It’s unimaginable, how quiet that theatre would go.

                At the curtain call, the applause would be thunderous and the cheers would bring down the house.

                After the stage door, Catherine would send her car away and get into David’s instead. And they _would_ have all night.

                But when he comes in, he says hello and flops down onto the couch again, just like he always does.

                Catherine smiles at him, and listens to him talk about the weird waiter he had to deal with at lunch.

                On stage, when they kiss and she wraps her arms around him, it’s partially because she wants to be as close to him as possible. And as long as he doesn’t know that, it’s okay.


	4. Chapter 4

                It doesn’t happen on a landmark night. Not a birthday, not Valentine’s Day, not closing night of Much Ado or Christmas or any day that sounds like it should be significant. It happens on a Friday; David’s always liked Fridays.

                The two of them had been planning this particular Friday for weeks. Dinner at Catherine’s—prepared by David—followed by a marathon of some of the old Doctor Who that the two of them grew up with.

                David successfully gets Catherine into the kitchen, and has her chopping things while he does all the intensive work. Honestly, he’s a bit surprised that he got her to agree to wield anything more than a butter knife.

                He’s talking to her, because David loves to talk and because he knows that she’s always listening. Even when she’s just smiling and nodding and saying, “Yes, dear,” he knows she’s listening. She just doesn’t want to interrupt him by responding with anything more substantial.

                The first sign of a something comes when David is reaching past Catherine to get something in one of her cabinets and their hips bumped. And instead of brushing it off or ignoring it or even an awkward apology, Catherine bumps her hip against his again with a playful smile directed toward the tomato on the cutting board in front of her. David glances at her sideways, but doesn’t turn his head because that would be giving in. He’s not sure precisely what he would be giving in _to_ , but he doesn’t want to quite yet.

                They eat dinner on Catherine’s sofa. Catherine sits with her legs curled under her and David sprawls out and stretches his feet halfway to the television.

                The second sign of a something occurs when David reaches out and brushes his finger along the bottom of her foot. Hard enough that she can clearly feel it, but soft enough that it does nothing but send a shiver down her spine that makes her shriek and almost throw her food up into the air.

                Perhaps more importantly for David, it’s light enough that he can claim he did nothing.

                After they’ve eaten, and Catherine’s taken their plates back to the kitchen, they turn on the television. David picks an episode and the two of them curl up together. Catherine leans into him and his arm goes onto the back of the couch; it just so happens that her back is also in that same spot of the couch, so it’s almost as though his arm is on her back instead.

                The third sign of a something comes when David cracks a joke. It’s a pretty absurd and lame one, even for David, and he expects her to hit him before she’s even considered the idea. So by the time her hand is anywhere near his arm, he’s already caught it and his fingers are clasped tightly around her wrist.

                Of all their somethings, of every little moment, that’s the one that matters the most—at least in terms of cause to effect. Because she watches him, waiting to see what he’s going to do. She watches him as he threads their fingers together, as he pulls her closer.  

                Both of them had imagined what it would be like, to kiss as David and Catherine. Not as Donna and the Doctor, not as Benedict and Beatrice. They’ve wondered what they would do in context, and how the other might react.

                Catherine had thought it might be hurried and intense, because after going so long wanting him, she would take the opportunity to snog him senseless.

                In this case, though, David was right. He’d always pictured their first kiss as patient. Because once that kiss happened, David as David and Catherine as Catherine, they would have forever. They could have their hurried moments and their passionate moments, but David had always figured that if he and Catherine kissed, it would be slow.

                And that’s precisely what happens. With his free hand, he sweeps her hair back before leaning down and pulling her to him.

                The occasion is not a remarkable one, because it had been a long time coming. David pulls away for a moment to examine her expression, but she’s simply smiling. She kisses him again, because it was inevitable.

                Equally inevitable is the way Catherine eventually stands, pulling David up after her and clinging to his hand as she goes toward her bedroom. He doesn’t question her verbally or internally, because after so many somethings, so many moments, after that _smile,_ there’s nothing to question.

                They stand together at the base of her bed as he tugs his tee-shirt off and discards it. He reaches out and slowly unbuttons her blouse. It falls to her shoulders, and she lets it drop to the floor by her feet.

                David gestures for her to turn around, and after a moment of hesitation she does. He fingers the clasp of her bra. While undoing it, he bends down and begins to kiss along her shoulder, singling out a spot covered in freckles and sucking on it gently. Too quickly, though, he wanders up her neck, lingering where it meets her cheekbone while she slides her bra off.

                Catherine spins to face him again, cradling his face in her hands and kissing him gingerly, savoring the taste of him on her tongue. His hands rest on either side of her waist and when he pulls her closer, shivers go down her spine just as the feel of his skin on hers.

                Their jeans come next. She unbuttons his first, and as he’s kicking them to the floor she removes her own.

                She sits on the bed and lies back. He follows, settling on his side.

                He regards her for a moment, and she does the same. After so much imagining, after so many somethings building up to this singular event, they should take a moment. David is wondering if things will change, if they’ll ever be able to sit so innocently together again or if they can stay so close. Catherine is thinking about how things _won’t_ change.

                And they won’t. Because they’ve been working toward it for so long that things couldn’t really change after sex.  

                David kisses her, gently. Some of her fingers thread through his hair and one of his hands is on her hip.

                His kisses trail down; he makes his way down each arm, to the palm and back up, littering kisses wherever he sees no sign of goosebumps. He zones in on her breasts, taking what seems like eons to reach each nipple and staying for what seems like a second when he finally arrives. This elicits a barely-suppressed groan from Catherine. David trails across her stomach, her outer and then inner thigh.

                But then he crawls forward again and returns to her mouth. She does groan now, and he grins into their kiss. Perhaps Catherine would turn the tables, tease him even more than he’s currently teasing her with his hands on her waist and his hips barely grinding against hers. Under normal circumstances. But she’s wanted this for so long that she doesn’t really want to wait any longer. Postponing it would be teasing herself just as much.

                So on this entirely un-landmark evening—though it was a Friday, and David’s always liked Fridays—Catherine tugs on David’s boxers and he kicks them off into oblivion (tomorrow they’ll find them hiding halfway under the bed). She shimmies out of her panties and they fall to join the rest of their clothes in a crumpled heap at the foot of the bed.

                It is not the most miraculous sex they’ve ever had. It is not the most miraculous sex they will ever have with one another. But for both of them, in this particular instant, it’s perfect.

                 It’s perfect when her nails skim across his shoulders and when he feels her muscles tensing and it’s perfect when he collapses beside her.

                Catherine decides, as the two of them are nodding off to sleep, that she quite likes Fridays.


End file.
